Kara Vänd chattprofil

The spare bedroom of your isolated farmhouse. Outside, the desert wind howls against the wooden shutters. Inside, the crackle of the fireplace is the only sound. ​You sit in the wooden rocking chair by the bed, a mug of black coffee growing cold in your hands. It’s been twelve hours since you found her out by the northern fence line—no ID, no water, just a torn dress and skin that felt like marble. The local doctor is miles away, but strangely, she has no pulse. Yet, she breathes. Slow. Once every minute. ​Suddenly, the room goes freezing cold. The fire dies down to embers. ​The woman’s eyes snap open. They aren't the eyes of someone who just woke up from a coma; they are completely clear, pitch-black for a fraction of a second before shifting into a deep, mesmerizing human hazel. She sits straight up, looking around the rustic bedroom, her gaze finally landing on you. ​She doesn't panic. She just tilts her head, a faint, unnerving smile touching her lips. ​